


9 Lives

by sweetgoodgraciousangel



Category: Original Work
Genre: ', Animal Death, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo2019, but like... its never gruesomely describe or anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-02-01 00:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21302642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetgoodgraciousangel/pseuds/sweetgoodgraciousangel
Summary: The story of how a Reaper came to understand humanity more than he thought he ever could through the nine lives of a cat.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. the silver bell

When a soul is put onto the Earth for the first time ever, it’s quite obvious.

For him, as new as he was to reaping souls, these tasks became repetitive as the endless flow of time pushed forward. Every day, night, morning, new birth and the inevitable death of everything that ever came into existence were slowly becoming a blur - nothing new to see but the old and wise counting the last seconds of their time among the living (and sadly enough, sometimes the young and sickly having to do the same). Everyone knew they were meant to die someday. Everyone knew there was no escape when he arrived to take their hand. 

Reincarnation was a possibility, but not always.

However for some creatures, reincarnation was a  _ promise  _ made by those who controlled the living themselves.

And so came the day he met that white plump and fluffy house cat. A brand new soul to the world, foolish and fickle as most could be. 

She had nothing impressive to her other than her perfectly polished coat and her icy blue eyes, very well cared for with a pretty silver bell attached to a ribbon around her neck. Otherwise, she slept around the majority of the day on the knees of her master and clawed at her feet when the time came for a meal. Her master was a widow ten years too early - aged by her grief, wrinkles crinkling the corners of her eyes and her long forgotten smile. Her house was darkened by blackout curtains, yet she still sat in her rocking chair with that cat in her lap, pretending the sunlight was basking her in a promise of warmer days.

The curtains were never pulled back though. 

The widow was pushing herself to and fro on her heels, relaxing in the rocking chair with her eyes trained on the single flickering candle in the middle of her room, scented with something warm and fall-like. The room was dampened with a sallow aura, dark and unworthy of anyone who may spread a touch of happiness to the home. The widow’s time was far from being over, but her misery in living without her beloved was immortal.

He would like to think she would mourn the loss for the rest of her days. These things, unfortunately, were not his to control. It was that of  _ fate _ , and he was merely a servant to such an ideal and those who manipulated it. His purpose was to carry souls to the next world and beyond, or sometimes, to simply restart life over here among the living.

The widow had much more to weep about recently. That plump, lovely house cat she’d come to treasure as her companion was slowly losing her agility and youth as each day ticked by. A gift to her when she’d first lost her husband from a dear friend of hers, to keep her company around the house since there was a lack of a second person around. She kept to herself mainly, grooming and prioritizing all of her time into the care of the only other being she’d had to comfort her. The cat seemed to take advantage of being the center of attention, her greed showing through every time she licked her lips unabashedly as a meal was poured into her food dish. 

That time was coming to an end unfortunately. Two days left on the cat’s clock, and she would be gone. She was simply old and frail, beginning to reject her meals and favoring curling up by the dimly lit fireplace in the middle of the living room. The widow sat in her rocking chair, gazing at the candle who’s light threatened to go out at any moment. A metaphor for what was soon to come.

The Reaper gazed at the cat. So calm and weak, content with her place by the warmth of the fire. He had no control of how quickly someone or something was to perish, as it was all left in the hands of the unknown. He, again, was only there to comfort the soul and walk them onto the next path in their existence. 

There was something about her though. The cat, as tired and ill as she appeared to be, seemingly refused to give up on her determination on the widow in front of her. Struggling to stand on her four legs, the cat quietly made her way away from the fireplace and over to her. With what energy she had, she hopped up onto the widow’s lap and curled back up. Instinctively, she began to stroke her still well kept fur and made no comment other than a hopeless sigh. The purrs of the cat could be heard, as if trying to comfort her master the best she could.

Everything had a purpose for existing; people included. Some were meant to walk this Earth and do great things, while others were simply meant to keep to themselves in a silent peaceful life. Nothing was ever the same or alike - no matter how countless some similarities may be. That may be the one sole thing the Reaper found unique about humanity. No matter the fact their cycles of life and death were the same, to be born and to eventually die, they still managed to uphold an individual purpose. 

This cat, despite having never set a foot on the ground of the living before this, had clearly found her purpose.

She blinked at the Reaper. The widow could not see him, but animals were always so sensitive to reality.

_ Not now,  _ the cat had simply asked with her eyes. _ Let me love her, one last time. Let me let her know she can move forward without me. _

It was not a request he had been expecting. With the inability to speak, the Reaper disappeared without another word. The night may have passed in peace, with her curled up against the widow, but time was still ticking.

One more day left. 

The Reaper would like to think there was more to the cat than she appeared to be. Her quiet but firm begging from before had oddly stuck to him as he moved onto with his night. How could a cat, having never been on the Earth before, possibly know already what it meant to exist? To him, her purpose was solely the attention of the widow. But even during her time as a kitten when the widow had met her, had she understood what exact the widow had gone through? Or perhaps, she’d seen the woman at such a weak and fragile state so many times that she’d solemnly vowed to be there for her when she needed it most.

He had realized he might be quite wrong. From first glance, the cat might have been seen as greedy. But that wasn’t the case. She pawed at the widow’s feet so passionately when it was time for her to eat because she wanted to let her know she  _ needed  _ her, that her capability of help was not lost. She would curl up on her lap when she cried so she would not feel so alone, not without the warmth of that fur and the sound of her soothing purrs. The widow had lost all confidence and meaning in her life when her beloved had abruptly died, falling under the belief that not a single being on this planet would ever call to her aid after such a tragic incident. But the cat had come to see that - had loved her master so much to the point she would never allow her to think of such rash things without the reminder she was needed, very much, by even a soul as small as her. 

Once again like the night before, the cat could not eat her meal. It was evident she tried, but even as strong as she tried to be in front of the widow, health was not something that could be easily hid.

She was comfortably sitting on the lap of the woman once more. The widow was rocking back and forth, her curtains finally cracked - yet it was a dreary day, with rain hitting the windows in a chaotic manner. She seemed unbothered by this.

Once again, the cat met eyes with the Reaper. Once more, he heard her plea.

_ One last time,  _ she begged.  _ Let me love her one last time. _

The Reaper disappeared. Only so much time would be left for her to love the widow, and for some reason, he felt obligated to allow her such a thing. Love was a rather trivial thing to the Reaper, but in this case, it felt… like a must.

He would come back the next day though. And when he did, it was clear the widow was distraught.

The curtains were tied tightly shut. She was not in her rocking chair, the fireplace was not lit, but rather the widow was stressing her old bones as she sat on her knees on the ground. The cat was still purring, no matter how evident she’d come to accept her time was up.

The cat looked at the Reaper, as bright as she possibly could. 

_ Do you think, _ the cat began,  _ that I loved her the best I could? _

  
The Reaper did not reply. 

_ Do you think, _ the cat continued,  _ that I did all I could for her while I prowled this world? _

The Reaper had nothing to say.

_ Do you think,  _ the cat concluded,  _ that she loves me as much as I love her? _

  
“Undoubtedly,” the Reaper finally said. “She loves you no matter how sad her heart is. That, above all, is a most beautiful deed.”

The cat raised her head in rhythm to the calm stroking of the widow’s hand. The silver bell tied around her neck would chime ever so softly every time she did. Eventually, she’d lost the last of her strength in her body. Try as the widow did to keep her mind in one piece, she shattered in an instant when the cat had stopped responding to the affection.

The Reaper could only do what he knew to do next. The cat had passed, and it was time for her to go to another life. The only proof of her existence in this time was the corpse left behind. She was no more than her soul at this point. The Reaper had a job to complete, and so he collected the soul of the cat within his hands and turned his back to the widow.

Yet, before he could leave, he had to stop and face her one last time. A weeping woman, having now lost two of the most faithful presences in her life.

The Reaper suddenly regretted not answering the cat from before.

The cat had done more than enough during her time as the white fluffy blue eyed cat. She had proven to be the most definition of a human at heart whilst not being human in the slightest.

How strange, the Reaper had concluded.

It was time to move on. 


	2. the red ribbon

How uncommon, to encounter the same soul twice in a short amount of time.

At first, the Reaper did not recognize her. It was only when he gazed deep into them that he rediscovered a familiar wisdom he’d seen only once what had only felt like a long time ago. For as many souls as he was tasked to carry over to their next destination, for as wise as some of them were, there was one who had yet to be matched while he completed his jobs.

The plump white cat from before. She’d returned. This time, she’d been reborn as a fit and agile calico with golden eyes, and a red ribbon was affectionately tied around her neck. Truthfully, the only thing that had changed about her was her appearance - everything else, including the knowledge of her life prior to this, was still intact. She was pleased by his appearance, oddly enough, flicking her tail back and forth almost playfully as she acknowledged his presence.

However, she was still young. Spry in life and swift on her feet. She was very well fed and groomed, living a grand life in what appeared to be the home of an aristocrat. A nobleman and woman of high status, little time on their hands for the smaller things in life, with their only sense of responsibility belonging to their jobs, family, and the little cat they’d adopted for their daughter only a short amount of time ago.

_ Why am I here? _ The Reaper asked himself, oddly enough. There would only be one reason he would be here, in front of this cat. How is it possible this young creature had a week left on her clock? What was going to happen to her, that couldn’t be stopped. She was in picture perfect health, brushing her paws behind her ears, sharpening her claws on the carpets (much to the dismay of the nobleman and his wife), eating her meals in full whilst also being the most playful a cat could be. 

Surely, what could happen?

The Reaper noticed fairly quickly the cat had become incredibly loyal to the daughter of the aristocrat family. She was finely dressed with sweet eyes and a kind heart, but it was undeniable that something seemed to set the daughter apart from her parents. Upon further investigation, it was rather evident about what was happening. The nobleman and woman, no matter how they may prioritize their family, did not fully understand or listen to their daughter. It was always  _ yes sir, no sir, yes ma’am, no ma’am _ \- complete, utter obedience to any task or question asked of her. The type of communication finely crafted rather than naturally developed - she had no real way of speaking to her parents without feeling like she was crossing a line.

Thus, there came in the cat.

Over the course of only a few days, it was a routine that even the Reaper became accustomed to seeing. An awkward and unnatural family dinner, conversations that were robotic and scripted, and then the girl would sprint off to her room for the chance to be alone. The cat would trot closely behind, sticking close to her heels as the door shut tightly. She’d bury her face into the mass of pillows on her bed, sighing but never daring to shed a tear. It seemed that while she didn’t agree with the way her family functioned, she never truly could bring herself to be sad about it. A construct of having plenty, while oddly enough at the same time not having anything. Money was simply an object at the end of the day, after all. 

The cat would bury herself against the crook of the girls neck, purring, pawing at her hair gently as if to stroke it caringly. The girl would always eventually roll on her back, just so the cat could sleep on her stomach. Warmth, being close to a human - that is exactly what she did with the widow. Providing comfort in ways other humans seemingly couldn’t. A type of caring that the cat seemingly could only give. 

_ It is all I know, _ the cat told him one night when the girl had fallen asleep.  _ The desire to comfort those who need it most, it is all I know how to do. _

The Reaper still could not simply understand why he was here. He was witnessing a monotonous routine of a noble family, over and over again. The cat still happily acknowledges his presence while continuing to prove to be a most wonderful companion. The Reaper was curious, watching as the time on the cat’s clock continued to tick down. 

The tension in the household did not cease. The girl may have been young, but she knew what she wanted to do with her life. These passions though were not approved by her parents. She had dreams of an art studio, paint brushes in her hand and canvases scattered across the floors. However, the vision her parents had created for her was much different: medical school, a scalpel in one hand and a diagnosis in the other. The arguments were increasingly more out of hand as they continued, and a day before the cat’s fate was sealed, the girl had made a rather surprising choice.

She’d awoken at midnight, stuffed some things in a bag, slung it over her shoulder and turned to leave her room.

The calico cat followed. The girl had tried to shoo her away, but the cat stuck close to her. No matter what the girl did, the cat was determined to accompany her. 

_ She will never be alone, _ the cat had said.  _ I could never allow myself to live if she were to ever be alone like this. _

With a sigh, the girl reluctantly allowed the cat to follow. Ever so quietly, the girl exited her house and with one final look at the grand mansion from the outside, she began to move away. The cat never ceased to stop following her. Since the cat had seemed insistent on joining her in her journey of self discovery, the girl had packed a bag of cat food to tide her over until the two of them could figure out what to do about money. The girl had canvases stuffed in her bag, each with an impressive picture painted on the surface. It seemed her plan was to sell them, despite it was evident she would rather not part with things she was so proud of.

The night had passed. It was the day the cat would no longer be by the side of the girl.

The Reaper felt something rather sickening twist inside of him. Why is it, that he wishes right now he had control over these things? He just saw a child run away from home with nothing but the clothes on her back, paintings stuffed in her backpack, and the only companion who truly believed in her trotting by her side? There was never a time in the past when he felt this way, despite the numerous tragedies he’d seen lives being taken and the countless souls who begged him for another chance on the Earth when it wasn’t written in their story for them.

_ She is a bright girl, _ the cat had told him as he followed at a respectful distance.  _ She will create so many beautiful things in her life. If she will not have the love of her parents for this, then I hope mine will do just as good.  _

“You seem to love the beauty of the world,” the Reaper replied. The cat seemed to disagree.

_ No, I’ve just come to love the beauty of humanity. Every soul deserves a chance. The widow was a strong woman, and this girl - she will be a hero to someone. _

The Reaper did not reply, but strangely at the same time, he did not disagree.

Seconds ticked. Hours passed. It was midnight when it finally happened.

The girl’s phone had endlessly rang for hours on end before she finally got fed up enough to turn it off. She’d quietly rambled on to no one but herself about how she did not want to hear the false concern of her parents. It seemed she did not believe they could even be concerned about her well being. She was recklessly flustered though, storming the streets without a second thought.

There was a flash of bright lights. The cat had sprung into action before the girl could take another step into the middle of the road, effectively stopping her.

Effectively preventing her from being killed by the car.

It happened quickly. The girl had begun to scream, dropping to her knees. The people within the car had gotten out, looking at the damages that had been done.

There was nothing more for the Reaper to do. He collected the soul of the faithful calico with the red ribbon tied around her neck and left the scene. Yet again, just like the widow, he had felt compelled to face the troubled young girl once more.

Tears were streaming down her face, her body shaking. The people who had taken part in the accident were trying to comfort her, but nothing was truly calming the girl down. She screamed about regrets, about allowing the cat to leave the house with her.

The Reaper moved on. 


End file.
